Tuesday, August 11, 2015

Carnal Theory

Carnal Theory

by Henry Corrigan

Blurb:
Dr. Elizabeth Spencer has a theory about sex.As Northeastern State University’s leading
behavioral researcher, the beautiful yet guarded doctor believes that lifelong
satisfaction is no longer a couple’s only game.
After being left to her own devices thanks to years of disappointment, Spencer
sets out to put her theory to the test. But when she meets her subject, the
handsome, stubborn and unpredictable Dr. Michael Aaronson, more than just the
science begins to go awry.

As their sessions together heat up, and the two find
themselves more and more on common ground, a sudden betrayal puts the entire
project and their careers in jeopardy. Thrust into the national spotlight with
questions flying on all sides, Spencer and Aaronson must face not only an
uncertain future, but their own pasts as well.
Will Spencer lose everything she set out to prove? Or will she finally find the
satisfaction she’s been looking for all her life?

Henry started writing erotica for the same reason that gets most people into
trouble; Because of girl. He writes contemporary erotic fiction, romance and
speculative erotica as well. His stories focus on the bonds of love, friendship
and marriage and he believes it is the heart, the love that grows between
characters, which brings readers back for more. Henry was born and raised in
Long Island, New York. His story Absence on Film, was published by Coming
Together in 2015.For more from Henry, you can check out his blog,
or find him on Facebook and Twitter.henrycorrigan.blogspot.comTwitter: @HenryCorriganFacebook:https://www.facebook.com/henry.corrigan.35

In the Language Arts building of Northeastern
State University, Professor George Conklin sat behind his desk and stared at
what he'd come to think of as the greatest enigma of his career.

The enigma stared back at him quietly, eyes
steady and calculating. Her face was perfectly neutral, body formed into the
chair with a relaxed poise. She made no move to avoid his scrutiny, but the
longer he looked the more he felt stonewalled by a sharp, coiled intelligence.
He had known the enigma for six months but was still no closer to understanding
her.

He'd also been sleeping with her for equally
as long, which did nothing to help his case.

Dr. Elizabeth Spencer, was five foot six, one
hundred and thirty pounds, with cropped blonde hair and hazel eyes. She moved
with sharp, viciously economical movements, like the wheels of a rushing train.
Even when still, a quick glance at her eyes confirmed the mind behind them all
was always clicking away.

Spencer was the university's foremost
researcher into human biorhythms and behavioral psychology. Hired shortly after
receiving her doctorate, her articles had appeared in numerous journals and she
was widely respected in her field. Which in itself was an accomplishment
because she wasn't yet thirty-five years old.

But for as often as her brilliant intellect
occupied Conklin's thoughts, her mind wasn't what currently slicked his palms.

One night six months ago Conklin, a professor
of English Literature who often stayed late to grade papers, opened his office
door to find Spencer standing calmly in the hallway. In all his years at the
university, the two of them had spoken less than half a dozen times. Every
conversation had been awkward and strained. At least for Conklin.

The standard convention for polite
conversation called for taking an interest in the well-being of the other
person. Usually characterized by questions such as, “How are you?"
"How have you been?" or the more colloquial "Sup'?"

Spencer never so much as acknowledged such a
convention existed. She always struck right to the point whenever she spoke and
eschewed any and all forms of polite chitchat. As they sat together that night,
Conklin had all but convinced himself she was there to discuss something
academic, or philosophical. Though what the topic might've been, he couldn't
have begun to fathom.

Which was the reason for his near attack of
apoplexy when Spencer told him exactly what she came to talk about.

"I propose the two of us should become
sexual partners."

Before Conklin could even react, Spencer
launched into her justification.

"I've been studying your finer points
for some time now, Professor Conklin. We are both hard working, highly
intelligent, dedicated individuals, which already suggests we would be
compatible. Our lifestyles are too equally hectic to support any sort of
emotional attachment. So in my assessment, a purely sexual relationship, kept
to a strict schedule, would be beneficial to both our well beings."

Conklin was flabbergasted. His mouth opened
and shut a dozen times as thoughts about her proposal rattled through his head.
In the back of his mind he knew he should have balked at the idea. He had no
illusions the awkwardness of speaking to her would ever fade, and he was man
enough to admit she intimidated the Hell out of him.

But on the other hand, Jesus, it had been
months since anyone made him an offer like… Well frankly, no one had
ever made him an offer like this.

Everything about Spencer was a little left of
normal. Her hazel eyes were more gold than brown. Her lips were pale pink, the
color of roses in early spring. The clean, striking planes of her face weren't
traditionally beautiful, but they caught the eye anyway. Gave her a sensual
quality, which was hard to pin down. Then there was her scent. Even from across
the room he caught the edges of it. Something both sweet but spicy, like
cinnamon or cardamom.

He spared himself a few more seconds to
consider her offer, then threw aside his reservations and simply nodded. He was
keenly aware of the pounding of his heart.

Seconds after giving his assent, Spencer
stood up and, without preamble, stripped down to reveal lingerie so red it gave
her pale skin a kind of glow. For a woman who talked robotically and had the most
meticulously clinical mind of any on campus, she possessed the widest and most
intense sexual imagination of any lover Conklin ever had.

Every weekday night since, at exactly five
forty five, Spencer would enter his office, strip off her lab coat and begin a
ninety minute session of explosive carnality almost unheard of in polite
society. Afterwards, Conklin would stumble from his office exhausted and
deliriously unhinged.

Now however, it was five fifty one and she
sat in complete silence. Her attention on an imaginary point beyond Conklin's
left shoulder. Unable to ignore his own biology any longer, he uncrossed his
legs to relieve the painful pressure in his groin. Mentally he shook his head.

By rights, his office couch should have been
creaking like a stagecoach over rough terrain. He needed to see what she
had on under her lab coat. Spencer never wore the same outfit twice. In the
past, he'd born witness to everything from functional bras and panties to full
corsets with garters.

When she at long last, stood up and
approached his desk, Conklin broke into a broad grin and began to strip off his
tie. But instead of quickly disrobing, Spencer stopped an arm’s length away,
produced a slim file from a coat pocket and plunked it down onto his desk. In
the second it took him to register it, she turned and sat down without ever
once changing expressions.

Conklin was dumbfounded. His eyes yearned for
her to come back. But if Spencer understood the look, she ignored it. She sat
with a determined calm and pointed one callused finger at the file.

Conklin snatched it up in a fury, unable to
believe anything could be more important than the incessant twitching between
his legs. As the pages passed, his foggy, hyper—aroused brain tried to make
sense of what he was looking at. He read line after line until his brow
crinkled.

What on Earth?

He read further, took in a whole page. Then
the next. And the next. By page sixteen Conklin's eyes were wide and he was
laughing so hard tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Are you serious about this?"

Spencer looked shocked at the question.
"Of course I'm serious. I would have thought that was obvious."

Conklin slapped his palm against the cover
and tried to catch his breath. "What on Earth made you come up with
this?"

Spencer sat forward, instantly ready to
discuss the genesis of what was, in essence, a proposal for a research
experiment. "I want to settle the debate about the necessity of sexual
partners."

Conklin smirked. "My dear. I think that
debate was settled ages ago."

The gold in Spencer's eyes flickered, like
the edge of a blade pressed to a whetstone. "I think not. In fact,
I strongly believe the debate was never settled and needs to have a
definitive, conclusive answer."

"Why for Heaven's sake?"

"Because the concept of coupling as the
key component for sexual satisfaction may be based on a fallacy."

Conklin opened his mouth to rebuff such a
ridiculous statement, but then stopped. Something he'd read stuck in his brain.
He flipped back over charts, graphs and footnotes until he found it. Filed
under Project Specifications.

He read it again and the grin, which broke
across his face was so joyful, it bordered on hysteria. He looked at Spencer
and let the file slip from his fingers. He growled as he spoke.

"Your project. It will require
multiple...what did you call them? Sessions for sexual experimentation?"

"That's correct. Each session is
designed to be more involved and complicated than the last, so as to test the
subject's sexual abilities at multiple levels."

"Absolutely," said Spencer.
"Sexual mechanics is a burgeoning field of study. And my experiment has
the potential to reveal new insights into the nature of human orgasm."

Conklin snickered. "That is indeed
exciting. I especially like Stage 4. The idea of including..."

"Toys," finished Spencer.

"Yessss. If I may ask, what made
you want to make this a part of your experiment?"

"This was honestly a personal decision.
If all the previous Sessions failed, then I wanted to test my partner's
abilities with certain key sexual devices. For instance, the seven inch purple
vibrator detailed in diagram 4.2, has brought me to orgasm every single time
you failed to satisfy me. Why are you unbuttoning your shirt?"

Conklin's fingers froze. "What?"

"Your shirt. I don't understand why
you're undressing."

Like film stock being rewound, Conklin's
brain rolled back till it remembered what she'd said. Then all the blood
drained from his face.

"Wait. Um, I. Every time I failed
to...What?!"

Spencer's eyes narrowed. "The purple and
red vibrator. It has satisfied me every time..."

"I heard you the first time! What
the Hell does that mean?"

Spencer quieted. She tapped a finger against
the arm of her chair, then slowly nodded.

"I suspected as much. You never noticed.
Well, Professor Conklin, this may come as quite a shock to you. But in the six
months of our relationship, you failed to satisfy me more than ninety percent
of the time."

"What?"

"Did you need me to repeat
something?"

"No! I don't need you to repeat
anything!"

Conklin was red faced and gripped the edges
of his desk for dear life. "But...but you can't be serious?"

"I don't see how my seriousness plays a
factor in this. I'm merely stating a fact. You are not at all proficient in
bed."

"You...you...I'm not...You."

"I spent considerable time puzzling over
this by the way. It was difficult for me to determine the source of your sexual
ineptitude."

Conklin growled but Spencer continued
unabated. "After all, you are physically fit, possess a higher than
average intelligence and your penis is of sufficient length and girth. After
eliminating all of these possible impediments, there was only one answer. Your
technique is sub par."

Conklin came around his desk and stood in the
middle of the room. Feet firmly planted, arms out as if he were a defensive
lineman trying to stop the onrushing truth of Spencer's words.

"Dr. Spencer. This is—an unfortunate
circumstance. One I am prepared...More than prepared to rectify. When do
you want to start your experiment? I am ready to go right now!"

"Begin?" Spencer's eyebrows came
together in puzzlement.

"Professor Conklin, I'm afraid you
misunderstand my intentions. I didn't come here to recruit you for the project.
I came to tell you that since you will not be participating, I see no reason
for our sexual arrangement to continue."

Conklin's breathing was erratic. "Who.
Is. The. Subject?"

"Well, there are three potential
candidates," she said.

"It's Robertson, isn't it? That bastard
has had it in for me for years!"

"Professor Robertson is seventy two
years old. He had his hip replaced last fall. I hardly think he would be
capable of participating in even Stage One. In fact, I'm positive Stage Three
would kill him."

"Enough! Fuck Robertson! No! I mean. I
mean no one else is participating in this experiment except me. Strip off the
lab coat and break out the tape recorder Dr. Spencer. We are starting this right
now!"

With gusto, Conklin tried to both rip his
shirt off and unbuckle his pants at the same time. But his movements were wild
and spastic and he ended up stuck, shirt half off, both eyes covered. Spencer
stood up to try and help but before she could reach him, Conklin lurched hard
to the right and tripped over the leg of his desk. He tumbled ass over
teakettle to the floor and landed in one big, half-dressed heap.

Contorting himself like a circus performer,
he stared at her through his sleeve while one hand flailed desperately at the
fly of his pants.

"I'm fine! Ready to go. No
problem."

"Professor Conklin, I feel this
situation has gotten out of hand."

"I won't be a minute! Get ready for
the balling of your life!"

Spencer made a hasty dash for the door.
"I think I should leave. Give you time to, um, collect your
thoughts."

"Don't fuck Robertson!"

She slipped out into the hall. Through the
door came, "Don’t. Fuck. Robertson!"

1. How did you start writing erotic romance? In
my author bio I like to say that I got into erotica over a girl, and while this
may sound cute it is actually true. I started writing stories for my first real
girlfriend as a way to excite her and tell her how much I cared about her. But
once the erotica bug got its pincers in me I couldn’t let go of it. My writing
expanded to not only girlfriends but readers in general. Which led ultimately
to my trying my hand at it professionally.

2. Plotter or pantster? I absolutely write by the seat of my pants. Several years ago I
experimented with plotting out an entire novel and while I managed to get far
enough that I thought it would become my first published novel, in the end I
lost the thread. There were just too many problems that arose as I was writing
it. I finally decided to put it aside to give my brain some time to work it
through. To fill the time, I started another, completely different story which I
didn’t plot out and which eventually became Carnal Theory, my most recent (and
first release).

3. What are three things you have on your writing desk? A pen, a spiral bound notebook and my
ipod. I handwrite everything first and listening to music helps me to tune out
the rest of the world and write the way I need to.

4. Favorite food? I don’t have a specific dish, but Italian food is where my heart
is.

5. Tell us a little about your new release. What character
in the book really spoke to you? Carnal Theory is about Elizabeth Spencer, a behavioral researcher
on a quest to prove that the key to true, lasting sexual satisfaction isn’t in
finding a caring partner. Spencer is analytical, brilliant and passionate but she
has spent years being disappointed by lovers who couldn’t satisfy her needs. So
she endeavors to use science to prove that with the advancement of sex toys,
the need for a lover is now obsolete. But when she meets her test subject, a
handsome and willful professor, more than just the science starts to go off the
rails. When I started writing the story, I found Spencer the easiest and most
interesting to write. Her words often just came to me and before I knew it,
there would be a whole page of nothing but her. I couldn’t help but smile
during those moments.

6. I write because ____... I can’t not. It is too much a part of me. I love it too much to
stop.

7. What is your favorite type of character to write about? Eeeeeviiiiiiiiilllll. There is nothing
quite like a good villain. They are the best types of characters to write. I
don’t know what that says about me, but villains often have the best lines and
the greatest death scenes. A good villain can make you gasp or cry and then
cheer when the hero finally does them in. What’s not to love about them?

8. What is the sexiest scene you ever wrote? Hands down it has to be the final scene
between Spencer and Aaronson in Carnal Theory. With the amount of tension and
frustration and pain I put them through, the final scene is the culmination of
everything. It took me several times to get through the writing it
because...well, because it was giving me ideas. I think readers will really
appreciate it the most out of whole book.

9. What advice would you give new authors in the
erotica/romance field? Join a
writing group! My writing would have suffered greatly were it not for the
wonderful people over at the ERWA (Erotica Readers and Writers Association).
They read Carnal Theory in its rough incarnation and helped make it better with
watchful eyes and insightful suggestions. I couldn’t be more grateful to them
and I couldn’t recommend them more.

10. What is next on your writerly horizon? I finished a new novel just a few weeks
ago, a more serious tale than Carnal Theory. It deals with the problems inherent
in society’s idea of masculinity. The whole “boys don’t cry” and “man up”
thing. I had to put it aside to work on the launch of Carnal Theory but I finally
started editing it the other week. My ultimate hope is for 2015 to end with two
books bearing my name.